Page 101 of Deadly Force
Badge.It’s got to be Guthrie.
She’s down there. With him. He’s finally crawled out of whatever hole he's been hiding in.
I don’t wait. I move to the far end of the newsroom and tear open the door marked Maintenance Access – Staff Only. I take the stairs fast and quiet, the air turning colder, the light thinning to concrete and shadow. The pressure in my chest sharpens. With each step, the voices grow louder.
Static buzzes through my earpiece, muddying the sound. I kill the feed with a quick tap and press in closer to the wall. Another voice sharpens the closer I get. Male. Cold. “I told you she wouldn’t drop this unless she was dead."
Lawrence. That cretin.
Every instinct I have is screamingpush now, but don’t rush the breach.
Brooke’s reply is laced with indignation. "You killed Eliza. You shot Mateo."
Another voice. Not Lawrence. Lower.
"That's all on you. You should have taken the warning."
Every muscle in my body locks. The casual way he says it, like discussing the weather, like her life means nothing.
"Did you offer to investigate before or after you got involved with her?" Brooke says.
"She knew the rules. She said she’d taken care of it."
Old ductwork vibrates with every syllable. They don’t even know I’m this close.
"So you took money to cover it up instead."
My pulse slows as I move. No panic. No hesitation. Just purpose. This is what I was built for.
"You know how much that clinic pulls in every year? Three point eight million dollars. And that's without the sideline gig they have going."
Sideline? Has to be something illegal. And something big Guthrie is covering up.
"That's your motivation? Money? I'm so disappointed."
What is she doing? Playing for time? Trying to get a confession? Or buying me precious seconds to find her?
"You think ninety-five grand a year covers a mortgage, two kids in braces, and divorce lawyers?"
I angle toward the voices, moving low and slow. I’ll get one shot at this.
"So when Eliza said she'd tell me everything—about you, about the clinic, about what she'd discovered—you had to stop her."
"I made sure no oneheardher."
The casualness of murder. My blood turns to ice. He’s calm. Too calm. Like he thinks this ends on his terms.
"And thanks to Lawrence, no one will hear you either."
The closer I get, the tighter the pattern of his voice becomes. He's not pacing. He's hunting.
"You can kill me," she says. "But the truth has a way of surfacing. It always does."
"Not this time it won't," he says. "I have a dead student, you placed at a crime scene, charges of trespassing, interfering with an ongoing investigation, and enough evidence to pin your untimely death on your bodyguard."
I’m right on top of them now. Close enough to feel the betrayal when I finally recognize the second voice.
Crowley.
